Elsa Vinters and Her (Dys)Functional Family
by 0109silver
Summary: What do you get when you cross a cranky, bear obsessed granny, an eccentric father, a morbidly indifferent mother, and a gorgeous yet painfully shy daughter with a broke art graduate determined to have a job? Some form of the Addams Family meeting Elsanna. "If this was any other job, Anna would've been out the front door. Instead she blinked twice, and walked the other way."
1. Chapter 1

**Elsa Vinters and Her (Dys)Functional Family**

**Summary: What do you get when you cross a cranky, bear obsessed granny, an eccentric, quirky father, a morbidly indifferent mother, and a gorgeous yet painfully shy daughter with a broke art graduate determined to have a job? Some form of the Addams Family meeting Elsanna. Fluff galore. **

**This is a little something I had swarming my head for a while, and finally decided to type it out. Trust me I'll get back to **_**The Coldest Moon**_** soon, be patient (if you don't know what that is then check it out). This will also be fluffier and shorter than my other Elsanna story (mentioned previously). No real plot complications.**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoy.**

**Oh, also I don't know if this is going to contain smut or not, so the rating may or may not change. Depends on what you guys want. **

**Warnings: Elsanna (not related), fluff, one cranky grandmother, and one murderous dog. You've been warned.**

**((((0))))**

**Chapter 1**

Anna Solsten needed a job.

Well, _another_ job that is. Working as a waitress can only pay so many bills until the debts start piling up, the eviction notices start flying through the mail like in Harry Potter, and the landlords start knocking. And it wasn't until the fourth red stamped letter came through that she really began seeking another form of work.

Bank tailor? No, math was the enemy. She X-ed that out on the newspaper.

Movie theater attendant? Though the girl loved her cinemas, she wouldn't even trust herself at doing the job if the next James Bond movie premiered. Another X slashed through the printed words.

Garbage man? That's just a big, fat, capitalized No. She scratched out that one (twice for good measure).

Secretary? Sitting down all day did appeal to her, so Anna skimmed through the rest of the brief, descriptive paragraph and . . . as she thought. The job was for an executive law firm. If she wanted to stumble around stiff, pompous, blue bloods all day, she would have more fun dealing with her estranged family.

_Scribbling_ that out, her gaze flinted over the newspaper, and sighed as only three unread help wanted boxes came into view. Setting down the newspaper, Anna buried her face into her hands, tips of her fingers rubbing her eye sockets. Frankly, the inklings of a skull splitting migraine was taking root at her temples, pounding away like a chisel to ice. Chuckling morosely, she remembered how her last significant, stress-affiliated headache went down. It was Anna's last year of college nearing the end of the last semester. The professors, like the little devil-spawn that they were, seemed to converge all of the finals in one miniscule exam week, otherwise known to her peers as 'The Seven Days of Hell'. Anna, to this day, swears that they contrived the plan just to spite her. Even still, she passed with flying colors (but at the sacrifice of sleep and sanity), like always, and was even Valedictorian when she graduated.

Back then, she preached about how the job markets in her field of study were gloriously open wide, yet now, at the age of 20 with her master's in Art History, Graphic Design, and Conservation and Restoration of Fine Arts (top if her class in all, she might contribute also), Anna Solsten finds herself working at a 50's themed diner making lowly tips, living in a piss poor neighborhood, and coming home to an equally piss poor apartment. Which is now, Anna may begrudgingly add, being evaded by the sensual noises one floor above nearly every night, the landlord, and now notices for assorted reasons.

And being the stereotypical broke artist, her reserve funds have depleted to the bantam numbers of 4 point 73 and her refrigerator died last week. How lovely.

Shaking herself from those musings, Anna straightened, shook her hands out in type of warm up gesture, and went back to the help wanted ads.

Laundry mat worker? She can barely do her own clothes let alone some else's. Nope. Next.

". . . Hel_lo_."

_Private painting restorer wanted. Pay high. $350 per picture. Note: most are 50+ years old; payment will be deducted if art is damaged. Room and board provided if necessary. Please contact Agdar or Idun Vinters at 1-879-775-9010 or send email at themajesticvintersclan . Thank you for your consideration. _

Like a wild woman, Anna dashed to her phone, scrambled to the key pad (darn touch screens, no, she doesn't want Free Fall), and called the aforementioned number.

One ring . . . two . . . four . . . six rings later, it went to voice mail.

A posh, articulate man's voice was heard, prerecorded, "Greetings! This is the wonderful residence of the Vinters household, we can't get phone right now, probably do to various reasons like work, family issues, or other aspects of our lives that take up our time. Please leave your name and reason for calling at the—"

Beep_. _

"Wait . . . what?" Did the machine really just cut off mid stride? Anna blinked twice.

A beat.

"Oh, shoot I'm still on the phone!" She slammed her cell back to her ear, face on fire and right ear ringing. "Um, hi, this is, um, Anna Solsten calling about the restoration job for your paintings." Okay, that was decent. She could roll with that.

"Um, yeah." And insert not so becoming start. "I was hoping that you still have the opening because I would love to be considered." _No, duh Solsten, why do you think you're calling? _Panic settled in. "Unless, you know, you already have the job filled then why would I be calling, of course why would you have put that ad in the paper if you don't need a restorer? Funny thing, those newspapers. You can send in a prompt and it takes about a week for it to be reviewed and published, then by the time you really need it, it's not there because of today's bureaucratic systems of business and whatnot . . . and . . . uh, shoot."

. . . And she was ranting. Great. If they hire Anna, for some unspeakable reason besides a form of psychosis, she would truly be amazed.

"Anyways. . ." Anna trailed off, cheeks now free of her freckles because of the crimson complexion she's now sporting. She exhaled into the phone, defeated, "Look, I guess what I'm trying to say is that I really need this opportunity. I've graduated college about six months ago with a master's in Art History, Graphic Design, and most importantly Conservation and Restoration, which I think you're most interested in, but lately the only job relating to my credentials is making those little pictures on the chalkboard for half-priced specials at the diner I work at."

Pausing, Anna gulped and cradled the bottom half of her phone, "Yet, that's beside the point. If you still have the job open—and if you're still listening because my word vomit tends to scare people off—I'm available for consultation. If you're also suspicious about my college marks in the subject you could call back and I could give you my email.

"So, okay, that's about it, so, uh, bye?"

Click.

Dear Gods, she was hopeless.

It was much later, when Anna was nursing a ginger ale and a new Hogwarts-from-hell's notice that she wonders why the name Vinters sounded so familiar.

. . . . .

The metropolis of Arendelle was founded in 1793 and, in the epicenter of sea-bound trade, it soon became a prosperous, cosmopolitan area with strong, archetypes in Scandinavian cultures and people. Like New England with its strong Italian and Irish, the city had a good portion of its founding fathers and residents be of Nordic ancestry. Anna is no exception. And so are the Vinters.

With correspondence back and forth, Anna providing her university grades through email (_does feistypanted-redhead sound professional?_, she thought) and Agdar supplying his address, the girl finally placed Vinters in the long line of Arendelle's history, rumors, and folklore.

And let's just say, the gossip she gathered didn't hinder Anna's confidence when she drove up in her older model Camry that her father _so kindly_ provided.

_Note the satire_, she thought as the first glimmers of the estate came into her teal gaze.

With her trusty companion the internet, in just a few days Anna learned about general make-up of the manor and the residing family within. The Vinters are one of the few founding clans of the city of Arendelle. They were originally Norwegian immigrants whose home was destroyed by the great Oslo fire in 1624 and they signed up as indentured servants over in America soon after, whether to have a change of pace or escape the religious war going on within Europe, no one knows. From then on, the family prospered from sea-faring trade by being privateers, fishermen, or port merchants. It wasn't until the mid- 1700s that the family really boomed socially and economically with investments in English textiles and American lumber. Therefore, the rest is history. They were the embodiment of the American dream in their infant years (which now has changed from colonization and mercantilism to paying off student loans and whether or not America will catch up with the world socially. Anna had her fingers crossed for the latter).

To put it frankly, they had money. Lots of it. _Old_ money, at that—

"Holy trolls on Christmas. . ."

The utterance was on the high scale of Anna's 'curses'. Which is understandable considering it was pointed toward the Vinters' abode. Previously engulfed by trees, the Camry emerged from the forest around the city to a slightly hilly area free of tall timbers. And that is when she fully spots the house.

No, not _house_. _Manor_.

Anna had never witnessed such a magnificent display of architecture before. Regarding that it was a mix of the Wayne mansion and the Addams Family one. Although it leaned more toward the latter. It was like a beautifully haunting work of tectonic bisexuality.

The area of the estate was large enough to dwarf most mansions within three counties, its lavishly green well-kept grass, shrubs and vines complimented the quirky colored stone, and the monolithic fountain could host a pool party if need be; representing the Wayne Manor half. The Addams Family other was presented by the balustrades on nearly all the dormer windows (and Anna means _all_), it opal slanted roofs protruding in several places unevenly with the highest being like its own tower, the oriel windows along a few of its sides, and other architectural terms that represented the stereotypical haunted houses you see in cartoons and two-tone movies. Carved pillars adorned the front porch, making way to a large dark wood, arched door. There were even a few gargoyles.

And it was _purple_.

Well . . . more of a shade of eminence, just a slightly darker hue, than actual _purple_. Various other shades of the color graced the stone (how they got stone to that color Anna was lost) that ranged from near pale violet to a dark royal.

Anna's jaw hung open while she subconsciously drove along the spear tipped iron gates that surrounded the place (another testament to the haunted house aspect).

_It's like evil Barney's house or something._

Yet, that thought didn't distract Anna from the presence and aesthetic of the home. It was actually quite comely. Even if it's a purple monstrosity at first glance.

Coming up on the open gate, she drove through a fantastic display of metallurgy, the crafted iron doors with a series of wisps and curls along the bars and the arched word Vinters above, and rolled down the gravel driveway until she reached the fountain's bend and parked.

The dinged up grey Camry seemed so out of place—and that included its owner.

_Shoot, I knew I should've worn the pumps. One look at my Converse and they'll bring out the shotgun._

_No wait, a simple shotgun won't do, they'll probably have something more sophisticated like a Safari rifle or whatever rich people have._

With the fear of being the new mounted specimen, Anna extracted herself from the Camry. Some ashen gravel dust kicked up as she warily shuffled to the door, eyeing the (mahogany, she thinks) Tudor arched entrance with . . . _really?_ . . . Stereotypically brass lion door knockers.

_There's so much wrong here, it kinda seems right. _

_. . . If that makes sense._

Reaching the doorway, Anna made sure no errant copper locks were attempting to escape the twisting bun she done last-minute, or if her eyebrows decided to stand up on their own. She swiped a forefinger across them, straightened her emerald sweater-vest and blouse, and made sure no white speckles adhered to her dark skinny jeans. She could've dressed better—if she had any other clothes to choose from. Fashion is a subjective thing when on a budge.

Anna's digits curled around the cold, brass knocker and was just about bang it when a withered voice came from her right.

"Halt, you red keratined trespasser!"

Jumping back, Anna whipped her head around with an audible _snap._

A cane brandishing, frizzy haired, runty old woman came bounding around the porch, a sneer along her thin lips. Short, quick steps carried her over to Anna, who took a few wary steps back, hands up in surrender.

"Um, hi . . ." she started, her voice shaking like the cane the old woman had above her head. "I'm Anna here for—"

"Well, I don't care who you are, little foxy!" The elder interrupted, closing the distance with a few more curt footfalls. Despite the impending senior, Anna didn't know if that was insult or a compliment. "You are on private property without permission—"

"Actually I have an appointment with—"

"—little rascals always trying to see the manor, well, I'll have you know that I won't allow for any of it!" Still waving the walking stick, the grey haired woman came in close, uncomfortably close, to the frightened girl. She stretched her neck up, revealing a saggy turkey like neck, and craned her head so that one bulbous eye could fully view Anna. The latter scrunched up her body, one leg leaving the ground so it kneed up to her stomach, hands still in front of her face, eyes smashed shut for imminent scolding.

In such proximity, and disregarding the fact that a flogging could happen on the doorstep of such a prestigious (even though purple) home, Anna took a warily glimpse at the enraged hag through one quasi-open eye.

The elder's face was predominantly a curved nose, her cheeks sagged like gravity had an ultimatum just for them, wrinkles adorned every inch of pale flesh, and her ears drooped low. She must've been around 90 or so, or at least that's what Anna hopes. Not everyone ages gracefully.

"—and now I have to interrupt my _vrschikasana _pose to chastise a no good, trouble making, trespassing redhead. My mother always said gingers were bad news—"

Insulted by the accusation, Anna opened both eyes, though still had her hands up. "_Excuse_ me!" She was particularly fond and _very_ defensive of her copper locks. Her species is endangered after all. Putting her leg down, she retorted, "Redheads are kind, gentle creatures like unicorns, and I will not have a _melaninless_ old granny tell me that I'm 'no good'!"

The stick in the woman's hand stilled and soon it met the stone porch in a muffled _thud_. It seemed to stifle the air around Anna.

_Well _that's_ a new insult._

A mixture of hurt and astonishment came across the woman's face, and Anna swore if she started crying she didn't know what she would do. The other's ripened face fell, "Old granny, huh?" A pause, then a sadistic smirk played along her thin lips as she spoke, "Well, if that's what you think. . ."

Anna watched stupefied as two sun spotted fingers came up to shriveled lips and, with one deep breath, whistled. In three notes the silver-haired lady shouted, "Sick 'er, Marshmallow!"

"Marshmallow? What's a—gah!"

A furry flurry of white charged from around the manor's corner. Anna resumed her earlier standing, half-curled position with a squeal. Something knocked her from her stance, sending the ginger to the porch. Wide eyed and breathless, she stared up at large, jagged canines accompanied by a low growl from a St. Bernard.

His—Anna glanced around (trying not to expose her neck) yeah definitely a _he_—massive paws were on either side of Anna's face as he bent down toward her panicking face.

Gulping around the lump, Anna managed to squeak out, "I'mherefortherestorationjob!"

The hot breath of the dog vanished, replaced by spring air.

Silence. That's all there was. Anna thought she might be dead. Dead, from a fluffy Pomeranian now resting on her chest, tail wagging, dark eyes staring back down at her.

Wait, what?

Like some form of magic, the dog-bear thing that once stood above her was now a smaller, cuter, totally harmless toy pup. It's large, deep eyes glowered into teal ones.

Pushing up on her arms, the smaller dog slid down to her lap, still whipping its tail back and forth. She glanced back at the old lady, cane settled to the ground and St. Bernard by her side, who eyed her with a murderous glance.

"You're the painting restorer?" The lady asked, incredulously. Her gold orbs still held doubt.

". . . Yes," Anna responded, standing, small dog under her arm. She brushed off her pants with her free hand as she continued, "Why else would I be here?"

The woman hummed, "Oh, you'd be surprised. Juveniles, curious children, reporters—"

"Reporters? Why would there—ow!"

A smarting pain resonated from Anna's thigh as the granny retracted the stick.

"Don't interrupt me, little foxy. I get enough of that from my grandson, and God forbid, I get another one—a ginger at that!"

Waddling over to the front door, the lady pushed it open and the bear-dog dashed passed her. The little one just about wiggled right out of Anna's grasp before she let him loose onto the world (not before a small scratch behind the ears first).

"Well, come on in! I'm getting closer to dying, more than you at least." The granny yelled from the foyer. Anna jumped up, startled, and darted into the manor. Nevertheless, she only got two feet in before she halted.

Unlike the outside, the inside was posh and very sophisticated with dark cherry wood walls, a monumental staircase that split off into two sections, disappearing around a bend, and a fleshly waxed floor. The ceiling was high, making Anna stretch her neck up to see the crystal chandelier. Pictures and antiques lined the anteroom, fully intact suits of armor and long passed ancestors' dead eyes glaring back.

It was like she stepped into another world.

Hence, why when the door slammed shut with the old woman muttering about 'air-conditioning and loitering teenagers' and an exuberant man in a black and white pin-striped tux came bounding around the corner, Anna nearly left her skin.

_He looks like a zebra. A really classy-looking, south of billionaire zebra._

The man also had a smile that could turn her, if that was possible.

"Oh goodie!" He began, eyes swarming with excitement and questions. "You must be the painting restorer!" His voice had an air of savoir-faire as if they had already exchanged pleasantries millions of times before and was articulated in the right vowels and syllables.

But the way his shoulders were loose, mellow, made Anna like him even more. Her own slumped in relaxation. The man, Agdar, Anna already surmised by the similarity from the voice on the phone, sauntered up to her, and when he was in good distance, took the ginger's hand into his own, shaking it.

"I've been waiting for this day since you called." He smiled, marginally blinding Anna. "I'm Agdar from the phone, and it looks like you already met my grandmother. Lovely woman she is—"

"Lovely, my arse!" That was the grandmother from behind. "And if you don't mind I would like to get back to my yoga!"

_Yoga?_ It was then Anna saw what the old woman was wearing, without the snarling dog obviously. Clad in some jeggings and a tightfitting workout shirt, it made the cane-wielding tyrant that was seem frail and small. Anna's attention snapped back to the younger Vinters as her eyes trailed up to the woman's chest—it was rather _droopy_ in places.

The blatant foreign curse didn't seem to deter Agdar none. "As you are entitled to, Geneviève!"

With that, Geneviève, apparently, stalked out, dogs in tow.

"Oh! And it seems as if you met Marshmallow and Olaf too! Sweet creatures they are. . ."

'Sweet' was far from her mind as Anna grinned hesitantly, "Sure. . ."

When she realized that she and her employer were alone together, still shaking hands and smiling awkwardly (well, more on Anna's side anyways), she finally took in his presence.

Agdar was lean, handsome middle-aged man with light copper, well-kept hair, a strong jaw and cheek bones. His nose was prominent but not overly so that it took away from his rather attractive features, accompanied with a small, delicate mustache along his upper lip. The suit that he had on was tailored to his form impeccably, and though it otherwise reminded Anna of Sheldon's Halloween Doppler Effect costume, it still gave him a humble presence. And he had kind, light eyes. Eyes like a father's.

She didn't know where _that_ came from, but it seemed to fit him well.

Clearing her throat, Anna glanced down to her hand, still encompassed by Agdar's, and then to him. "Well, it's wonderful to finally meet you." She gave a smile. "To be honest, I kinda was intimidated when I remembered why the name 'Vinters' sounded so familiar. So I sorta stalked you on the internet for a few hours."

He gave a hearty laugh, not letting her appendage go. "Well, I would be lying if I said I didn't do the same. Top of your class, Valedictorian, high respects from your professors . . . no wonder you're so young."

Anna's face burned at the simple praise. It wasn't every day that the patriarch of a lime lighted family gave you compliments.

"Uh, thank you, sir. I graduated high school early."

"Another wonder!" Agdar shouted, astonished. Anna couldn't help but grin stupidly. His enthusiasm was contagious. "Let me guess . . . twenty-one?"

"Twenty."

"Gingersnaps, I had a bottle of Merlot chilled and waiting for us. Are you a law-abiding citizen?"

"Counting down the days, sir."

True, Anna has had some beers at the university, yet if the canines were still roaming the premise, she would rather not be inebriated if she needed to bolt.

"Oh, Ms. Solsten, please call me Agdar."

She smirked, "If you call me Anna." 'Ms. Solsten' made her feel old.

Chortling, he replied, "And a negotiant." His eyes sparkled as he (finally) let go of her hand and his went to the lapels of the suit. "I have an opulent feeling that we're going to get along splendidly."

Jitters settled in the girl's body. Not from anxiety. She got that out of the way on the drive here. They were from excitement. At long last, she was going to have a quasi-stable job that could _pay_. Don't get her wrong, waitressing was fun, however due to economic troubles the owners had to cut back hours to part-time. Plus, you could only take so much drunken college boys gawking at your ass for so long. Although, the tips were good, all the same.

Agdar waved her over to follow him as he continued to talk. "Too bad you can't meet my wife until tomorrow, business over in another firm in the Southern Isles. She's . . . _something_."

Anna couldn't help but smile at the wistful shift across the other's features.

_I bet they're a cute couple. _

Their shoes echoed along the walls as they moved from place to place, from the foyer, to the dining room, to the kitchen, all with Agdar beckoning wildly to tiny details as well as the large. He got so worked up when she asked about the medieval swords stationed at some of the halls. "Intruders seem already spooked when they get around the forest bend. You should hear them scream!"

Anna asked about the 'intruders' too, she got "oh, the sparse company we get." They both cackled like mind scientists while they trekked down another hall.

Grinning, Agdar inquired once down another corridor, "You mentioned in the first voicemail about a diner that you are employed at. Tell me about it."

"Oh, well," she started, tucking an auburn tress behind her ear. "Nothing much to really report. I waitress there six days out of the week to get by. It's a quaint place, nothing much. The food's good though, like really good! Their burgers are juicy and their chocolate cake is to die for!"

Impossibly arching an eyebrow, Agdar said, "Then why did you apply for the job?"

Anna gave a nervous chuckle, "Typical for an art major to be broke."

He didn't reply, so she went on, "Not to mention I need the money. I'm barely getting by as it is and, since the hour cuts at the diner, things are getting tense with my landlord and I."

They turned another corner with Agdar pointing out a tapestry. Once they continued on, he acknowledged, "Well, if you're willing, there're more than enough spare rooms in the household, I could lend you one if you want."

Stopping dead in her tracks, Anna stared at the man's back. When he realized that she wasn't by his elbow anymore, he pivoted, brow cocked. "Is everything alright?"

"N-no, everything's fine," she stumbled over her words, "It's just," sighing, Anna lifted her head back up. "I couldn't accept something that big."

"How so?" He seemed genuinely worried. Not like he just rented out one of his rooms.

"Well . . . for one we just met."

"Yes. . ?" Oblivious. Of course he was.

Anna didn't feel like giving her host a crash course in mannerisms and social acceptability, therefore she just went with, "I . . . I just can't accept the offer that's all."

He stared. Just stared as Anna's neck became inflamed. Slowly, something akin to a sad smile crossed Agdar's lips. A beat and then he shrugged and continued strolling down the hall. Snapping out of a self-conscious trace, Anna jogged back up to his elbow. She was about to apologize, mouth forming the first syllable, when the man interrupted.

"No need to say sorry, Anna," he gave her a sideways glance and continued, "It was only a suggestion."

Anna was about to explain but he once again came up with words first, "No explanation needed."

"Okay then," Anna said, unsure. Even still, something still nagged at her so she requested, "Why are you so trusting, I mean, I could be a homicidal manic for all you know. Or a kleptomaniac. Not sure which one's worse though. . ."

A chuckle, and he whirled to Anna an interesting glint in his light eyes. "Most people aren't as earnest as you Ms. Solsten." She gave him a look. He smirked, mischievously. "Nor as humble or honest. It's something people lack nowadays and it is something, if the chance comes up, I would want in my household."

Agdar smiled at her like she was already one of his kids. Something Anna has been deprived of since birth.

She grinned back, "Thank you."

The rest of the walk was filled with a warm, comfortable silence, Agdar's hands still at his lapels, Anna's own behind her back as she practically skipped next to him. She had a feeling she'll like this job.

Something creaked open and the pair spun around.

Anna leered at the woman emerging from the room.

Silvery-golden hair twirled around her head in an intricate, twisting bun with sheared, feather bangs swept to the left. Bow-shaped lips a specter of light rose enhanced by the clear gloss smeared across the skin. Her dazed, icy, azure irises intensified by the heavy mascara adoring her long lashes and the violet shadow along her lids gave an almost ethereal feel to them.

And her _body_. Toned, slender figure with _heavenly_ hips were adored with an opal laced long-sleeve shirt and skinny jeans that just hugged her endless legs in all the right ways. And finishing the whole outfit off was scuffed up combat boots that were also black and matching nail polish.

_A gothic goddess_.

Lazily, the woman sauntered out of the room, not noticing the unconcerned male and the mesmerized female. But then she fully turned and Anna nearly collapsed as their gazes met. Something akin to lightning shattered through the air as they continued to gawk at one another. Anna couldn't breathe. She couldn't even move. She could only stare at the most gorgeous woman she'd ever seen.

_Dear god, she even has freckles. _

As if this woman couldn't get any more perfect she happened to have a tiny smatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose, a shade or two darker than her otherwise pale, flawlessly creamy complexion.

Teal remained locked with crystal. Silence engulfed the hallway—

"Eep!"

In one rapid movement, the mysterious woman yelped, scrambled around and darted back into the room, slamming the door and effectively ruining the electrified moment. A second later, a bolt clicked into place, the door locked.

"Oh yes," Agdar muttered, rubbing the side of his head, completely oblivious to the tense interaction. "Nearly forgot. That's my daughter, Elsa. She's a bit skittish."

**((((0))))**

**Like you think I'm going to go easy on Elsa this time around. As if. If you read my other story then you know that is **_**so**_** not the case. In any case, yes, Elsa is a bit Goth in this story. Don't know why but I like the idea.**

**So, yah, the old lady is actually the witch from **_**Brave**_**. Don't have her name so I choose Geneviève. Suits her don't you think? Anyway, the King and Queen are going to be MAJOR OOC if you couldn't tell. It's just something that will elate the story more. Please don't flame me for it.**

**Etymology for this chapter: **

**Vinters—'Winters' **

**Solsten—'Sun stone' **

**Also I'm neither an architecture major nor an art major so, in this or future chapters if there are anything wrong with the info, please tell me. I will fix them. That also goes for grammar or spelling mistakes.**

**Nevertheless, thanks for reading. And leave a review if you want.**

**P.s. This was nearly 5,000 words. Not going to continue that pace for the rest of the chapters.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Elsa Vinters and Her (Dys)Functional Family**

**Thanks for the reviews!**

**If you see any grammar or spelling mistakes, please tell me. I will fix them.**

**It's a short chapter but, I guess you guys deserve more of these dorks. . .**

**((((0))))**

**Chapter 2**

Elsa thought a nap would help with the prospect of a new human roaming around the manor.

She thought wrong. In fact, when she woke up she was way too relaxed and drowsy. So when she idly strolled to the door, the blonde didn't think to listen for footsteps or smothered voices passing by. Mind foggy and body stiff, Elsa unknowingly walked into a minefield of awkward.

Or, at least that's what it felt like.

Because of those damn chromatic vortexes called eyes**. **A mixture of blue and green that made the most tantalizing shade of cyan Elsa had ever seen, especially encompassed by big, doe eyes surrounded by long, fluttering lashes and—

Elsa sighed and rested her head against the luke-warm surface of the door, palms resting beside her forehead. She hoped the cool wood would pacify the raging headache rooting up, yet it only served to make her acknowledge the inferno that was her face. A groan and she swirled around and slid down, rear thumping on the floor.

When her father announced that he finally found a restorer, she was happy at first for those paintings did need a little touching up in places. But, then once he proclaimed that it was _she_, panic settled in. Boys, Elsa could handle. They were just as graceless as she was in some aspects; conversations, topics, body language, hell, even _greetings_.

Girls, on the other hand . . . girls made her feel alienated, overwhelmed, they make her fluster and stutter over definite articles of speech. They made her feel weird. A good weird. However, still weird all the same.

And when her sleep-riddled brain processed that there was someone in front of her, Elsa realized just how out of touch she was with other humans. Of the same sex, nonetheless.

The first thing she noticed was the girl's eyes; an intense hue of teal. She remembered her eyes traveled upwards next, going to the flaming auburn hair done up in a messy, yet somehow chic bun, with thick bangs swept to the right just out of her vision (Elsa also noticed a little cluster defying instruction at her left temple; the blonde's hand twitched as she wanted to brush them with the others). Then down her gaze went, to a round face and subtle cheek bones, rosy and splattered by dots of freckles. A pert nose crossed with another patch of spots.

Wondering if the trail of lentigines continued down, crystal orbs flicked lower and was slightly deflated at the high collared, white button-down the girl was wearing. Over it, if Elsa recalled correctly, was a dark green sweater vest and a matching bow tie. Slender (awfully tempting) legs, very muscular by the way they bulged at the sides in the dark pants.

Hipster, Elsa thinks the other human's style is called.

_The Spring Goddess's incarnate happened to be a redheaded bohemian. Just my luck. _

Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back and gave another empty sigh.

Being a lesbian never scared Elsa. The outlook of coming out to her parents is never going to be an issue. They were horridly supportive in anything she chooses, or _is_ for that matter. If she wanted to be a clown, they would be by her side one-hundred percent. In point of fact, her father would be _thrilled_ to have a clown in the ménage.

She can practically hear him now: "We've had pirates, merchants, retail workers, professors, acrobats, and career bank robbers in the family, but we've never had a clown. How splendid!"

Her mother: ". . . whatever. Be the best clown ever yadda yadda yadda. . ."

No, it wasn't _being_ gay that terrified Elsa.

It was _acting_ on it.

Social ineptitude hampered her from an early age. And it doesn't seem to be fading anytime soon.

A muffled voice filtered through the wood. Her father by how low it is. Soon after, the dampened thuds of footsteps came and went, and Elsa exhaled in relief. Standing, she waited a few more moments before grasping the handle and pulling. Comically, she looked left then right, then left again.

Once the coast was clear, the blonde straightened and took a chanced step out into the real world . . .

. . . and about squished a very real Olaf.

The Pomeranian barked. Elsa yelped.

"Gah!"

She stumbled back, limps flying, as the toy dog sat there, unfazed. His dark orbs stared at her as she situated herself. Once righted, she glared back at him, mumbling something about creepy dogs and taxidermy.

"What do you want?"

Patting his tiny paws at the ground, he waggled his tail and turned his head to the right, huffed, turned his visage back to Elsa and huffed again. She followed his movements with narrowed eyes, copying the dog as he whirled his head back to the right once more.

"What're you. . ." her voice trailed off as the ingrained mental map of the manor came to her. Her eyes morphed into slits. "No, Olaf, I'm not going to associate with her, now _shoo_."

For emphasis she swatted Olaf away with her hands. Withal, he sat.

She groaned, "_No_, Olaf. Go play with Marshmallow or something—wait. How'd you get in the house?"

Geneviève's yoga routine is two hours long and, like the crazy old hag that she is, the great-grandmother goes outside, usually with the dogs, where she 'can be one with the bears'. Her obsession with those beasts never ceased to befuddle Elsa. Today was no exception.

Without an answer, Olaf snorted, wrenched his adorable little head to the direction of the portrait room, got up, and _literally_ _swayed_ _his_ _pint_-_sized_ _hips_ as he pranced down the hall.

_You know you're bad, when a dog out-swaggers you. _

Olaf, among other things, was one of the majuscule Mysteries of the Vinters' household.

. . . . .

On the other side of the hall, down another corridor, taking a sharp left, Anna was still in a lackadaisical daze. The crystal blue irises of the Gothic Goddess still burned in her mind. That sexy, sexy Gothic Goddess—

_No, Anna . . ._ she chastised herself. _She has a name_.

Elsa.

_Elsa_.

Heck, even her name rolled along Anna's psyche too easily. Too easy like the phrase with a synonym for a deity and a hyponym for tall, dark, and brooding—

_Stop it, Solsten. Get it together. Libido, stay down._

_. . . Of course Gothic Goddess could be a euphemism for when I_—

"Here we are!" Agdar caroled, gesturing to a tall, white rectangular doorway. Anna jumped, mind finally catching up to what he said. The patriarch stepped forward, placed two gloved hands on either door, and, with a hefty push, opened the portrait room.

"Holy Fairies in the Moors," cursed Anna as the area unfolded before her.

That too was on the high-end of the innocently-adorable swears.

The entrance gave way to a massive room with high, light blue walls adorned with _dozens_ of paintings. Square, oval, rectangle frames encompassed various subjects of focus from couples lounging in the grass, regal kings and queens resting upon their thrones, straight-laced damsels in distress, and lofty knights fighting the perils in their way. _Dozens_. All for Anna to work on, restore, and breathe life into.

She was in a canvas-lined heaven.

Not knowing which way to go, Anna bounced on the balls of her feet to and fro, eager for what awaited. A cheeky smile stretched across her face as she caught sight of a portrait depicting a Victorian ear woman upon a swing, her frilly, peach dress flapping in the wind.

_A child in a candy store_, said Agdar's Cheshire cat grin.

Wide eyed, the ginger whirled to the man. "This. Place. Is. _Amazing_!"

With that, she sprinted to the other end, nearly smashing right into a picture of a tango duo in midst of festivities. The colors dull, the edges sheared from water damage; it was a good prolusion piece for the refurbishment novice.

Spinning on a heel, she dashed to Agdar's front, who looked like he was attempting to restrain himself from joining the spritely girl. Both felt the ecstatic atmosphere. And both shivered in anticipation. Anna mirrored Agdar's face, Agdar mirrored hers; it was quite grueling to tell who was more invigorated, more enthusiastic.

"When," bounce. "Do," bounce. "I," bounce, bounce. "Start?" bounce, bounce, bounce. Excitement pulsed to her feet, hopping like a bunny on Easter.

The man lost his control. All forms of restraint decimated when he joined Anna in jumping up and down. It was quite an amusing scene. Two bunnies. One emerald pigmented. The other striped, black and white.

"When," hop, hop. "Ever," hop. "You," hop, hop. "Want!"

"I have," bounce and a pant. "My supplies," bounce and two pants. "In my car!" Now heaving and side stitching, Anna halted, bent down, and placed her hands on her knees, trying to get her breathing under control.

_Remind me to put more cardio in my work out. _

Agdar, however, didn't look winded one bit. In Anna's mind, he appeared like he could do this all day.

Even still, he jumped up with a huge smile along his lips, mustache bowing inward, as he volunteered, "Do you need assistance?"

Whether it was her adrenaline or the fact that Agdar's zealous ways were seeping into the ginger, Anna complied with, "Why thank you sir!"

Giving an exaggerated curtsey, Anna beamed as Agdar chuckled and offered a striped arm. She gladly took it, grasping his elbow, and he guided her to her car, heralding, "Tally-ho!"

They skipped the whole way.

**((((0))))**

**Thank you again for the follows, favorites, and the reviews. That is what spurred me on to write this chapter so fast.**

**Yes, Olaf's going to be an interesting dog. I have big plans for him.**

**So how did you like it? Good? Bad? Subpar? With anything, please favorite and review!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Elsa Vinters and Her (Dys)Functional Family**

**Sorry, about the late update. Reality sucks.**

**Hopefully, this will fulfill your Elsanna thirst.**

**If you see any mistakes please tell me, I will fix them.**

**EDIT: Fanfiction was glitchy with me yesterday and I had to take this chapter down and re-upload it. Technology. Sorry for the inconvenience.**

**((((0))))**

**Chapter 3**

Elsa found Gerda in the kitchens, slicing potatoes. Humming a tune, the portly woman had her back turned to her and she decided that a sneaky get away (with perhaps some form of chocolate) was best.

The blonde didn't get five feet before, "Elsa, dear, would you be so kind as to get the strainer for me?"

With the plan foiled, she did as she was told, moving to the cabinet and grumbling, "How'd you know I was here?"

Strainer in hand, Elsa set it down by the older woman, who chuckled, "Those mud-attracting boots you wear all the time makes a dreadful noise."

Pouting, Elsa glanced down at aforementioned shoe wear and took note at how they were scuffed up and dingy, yet not _dirty_ per say. "I don't see anything. . ."

"Well, obviously not now!" Gerda stated, exasperated, as she filled the plastic bowl with potato slices. Once done, she rinsed off her hands and turned to the grimacing girl, rag in hand. "You seem awfully . . . _off_ today. Everything alright?"

A crimson flush erupted on Elsa's cheeks. The images of the Redheaded Goddess crossed her hazy mind, making her gulp back a whine. Seeing this, something twinkled in Gerda's eyes (_mischief,_ _playfulness?_) as she whirled her head away, suddenly finding the moldings along the walls very interesting.

_She knows. _

Shoulders scrunched up to her ears and avoiding any and all eye contact, Elsa managed, "N-nothing . . . just had a nap." _And_ _witnessed the personification of Spring._

"Really?" Gerda accused, and Elsa couldn't help but hear the tilting in her voice. She wanted to slam her head on the nearest surface and the old maid appeared to be reveling in the fact the pained expression upon Elsa's face was becoming more and more prominent, mouth in a thin line and features being consumed by the flames along her cheeks. "I would think that a _nap_ would refresh an architecture student."

A pause with flames licking the blonde's neck and ears, and Gerda's knowing expression acting as accelerant.

"But," began the maid, mortification throbbing along Elsa's body. "I could be wrong. . ."

About to say something along the lines of 'yes', Elsa choked back a squeak as Gerda uttered, "Met the painting restorer earlier. Spritely thing, she is."

The older woman looked peculiarly pleased with herself. Elsa was just content that she managed to suppress the urge to whine.

Gerda has been a housekeeper for the Vinters since Elsa was a little girl. She and her husband, Kai, was just as part of the family as Agdar and Geneviève were. Hell, she practically raised Elsa when her mother and father were roaming the country, representing high-end clients for various reasons. Like a second mom, Elsa regarded her with respect, kindness, and if the situation dictates, as it is at the moment, fear.

Fear, because like an actual mother, she can see through Elsa's thin façade of lack of keen interest and wary antics. She might as well be translucent.

By the time she figured she would have to respond to the maid's comment, it was already checkmate. Elsa, zero. Gerda, incomprehensible amounts of victories.

Snorting, the portly woman said, "Dear, don't be so afraid, she's harmless." Going back to rinsing the slices, she added with a quick, pointed glance, "Did you even say hello?"

_How in all the purple shades on this house, is she harmless? She just awoke the repressed sexuality I've shoved down for so many years. Harmless is _not_ the word that comes to mind when I think about her. _

It took a moment and Gerda's awaiting gaze to tell Elsa that there was a question.

"Oh, um. . ." Was a squeal a form of acknowledgement? _Maybe in some cultures . . . eh, good enough._ ". . . Yes."

"Elsa Skadi Vinters!"

"What!?"

"Are you telling me that you didn't introduce yourself to a _guest_ under _your_ roof?"

She gulped, "I-I d-didn't say—"

Hands on her hips, Gerda turned fully to Elsa, a heated spark in her eyes that had the other wanting to run to the hills. As second mother, Gerda had the right to scold the blonde when she fell short of common courtesy and social adepts.

She called Elsa out on her bull shit with, "Exactly, you didn't _say_ anything." Pausing, the maid huffed, buxom concaving slightly, "Now, if you want dinner tonight you will march to that kind, gentle girl and introduce yourself properly."

To emphasis, she erratically pointed at the quasi-direction of the portrait room.

Elsa chuffed, a sure sign that she was slowly losing the conversation and her esteem. She attempted to save her pride by saying, "Dinner, really? That's the best you could do—"

"I'm making potato skins with a roast."

Her stomach dropped. Gaping at the woman, she mumbled, ". . . drizzled with a seasoned berry sauce?" Dread ran up Elsa's spine. That dish was—

"Your favorite."

_Checkmate_, gloated Gerda's irked, lidded eyes as the blonde bounded down the passage. Her shoulders slumped in defeat and her bulky boots skidded unceremoniously along the wooden floor. But, clearly not fast enough for the older woman.

"I said _march_!"

. . . . .

Anna was in paradise.

The aroma of age-old canvases filtered through her nostrils.

Emblazoned pallets covered the room, a sight for tired eyes of city life.

A precept of awaiting money after today by a generous and compassionate man. With his goddess of a daughter somewhere in the manor, no doubt.

Definitely, it was more than she could ever want. Both the good and the bad, nevertheless. Pros: money, that one was a given. Agdar, the eccentric gentleman that he is. The absolutely miraculous portrait room that she now claims as her office. And Olaf (the adorable pup came waltzing in with his impermeable cuteness; Anna, hapless against him, couldn't stand not cuddling with the Pomeranian).

The cons: . . . the gorgeous distraction named Elsa.

_Oh, and the granny. Don't forget that cranky broad, Anna._

Sighing, the girl rummaged through her tool kit of chemicals, brushes, paints, and other restoration equipment, a gift from an enraptured professor, who claimed she had the potential to preserve a Monet if it comes to that. She grinned at the memory. Geppetto was a sweet, elderly man. Yet, he had a thing for striving to set her up with his son, Pinocchio. Once she, however, divulged that it was impossible for them to be together, he accepted defeat and didn't press the matter further. At least, until Anna put his boy on a date with another, Lampwick. Geppetto thanked her for weeks afterwards. Her keen gaydar told her so, by the way Pinocchio's eyes would flicker to a passing males' rear.

Although Anna is characterized as humble, she does pride herself with determining if someone is swinging any other way besides heterosexual. Years of observation, trial and error, sharpened the instinct. And she got good at it too. Efficient enough that if she just met someone and chatted for a few measly minutes she could have a solid presumption.

. . . Until, Elsa Vinters.

That blonde-haired, blue-eyed bombshell scattered her readings.

Exhaling, the girl sat back in a cozy office chair (that Agdar so thoughtfully provided, as a matter of fact), pulled out her phone, typed the password to unlock absentmindedly, and cupped the cell to her ear.

She needed guidance. And she knew exactly who would furnish her a stern 'deal with it'.

One ring . . . two . . . on the fourth the other person answered.

"Hey feisty pants, how's it going?" The words slurred out of his mouth. Anna hypothesized he just awoke from a midday slumber.

"Kristoff, I need help." Curt, to the point. This was a drastic alteration to how she usually went about greetings. It meant business.

The man's, Kristoff's, interest piqued as he responded, still remnants of sleep in his voice, "Is everything okay? Do you need me to come and get you?"

"No, no," Anna said, placing a hand on her forehead. The tango picture from earlier glared down at her, judging menacingly. She glowered back. "Things are fine here. Great, actually!"

"So what's wrong?"

A beat. Another. Anna inhaled sharply, and stated, "Well, there's a slight hitch . . ."

. . . . .

By the time Elsa's dejected footfalls rounded the corner, her Gerda-influenced bravo dwindled away to nothing more than a sliver of purpose. Yet, that soon ebbed as the doorway of the portrait room came into view. Her usual anxiety crashed back. The jitters. The shortness of breath. Eyes casting around for an exit. Alas, it was a familiar feeling.

In a few practiced breathing exercises, Elsa somehow made it in front of the damnable room.

_Remember to breath, remember eye contact. Like the therapist said._

Gulping in some air, Elsa shuffled in front of the entrance, though not wandering any amount of measure toward the other human that sat in the epicenter. She crushed her eyes shut as the recognizable undertow of hysteria came over her, the pulling sensation like being engulfed by the ocean, pushing and pulling her every which way. Taking her deep, deep down. In sync with the undulate, up and down they pulled her, in and out she respires. In and out. In and out. After an indeterminate amount of time, the water languished away, going back into its cove until another high tide arises.

Finally, Elsa opened her crystal orbs. The light from the room before contrasted with the naturally lit corridor causing her pupils to burn and adjust. Shadows quasi-concealed the blonde as she gazed into the room where the catalyst of her anxiety was at.

The ginger was rummaging through a silver briefcase, taking out bottles and brushes that Elsa could only hypothesize as her work tools. From the blonde's point of view (as in totally creepily standing in a hallway, cloaked by shadows point of view), it looked like one of her shoulders were hutched up to her ear, like she was holding a phone there. Her mouth confirmed Elsa's suspicion as she turned to one of the large paintings, lips opening and closing as if she was chatting. It didn't seem to bother Elsa that technically she was taking a personal call at her place of business. No. She was more concerned by the mere fact that the ginger was _young_.

When her father spoke fervidly about the awaiting interview with a promising restorer, Elsa thought he was talking about someone in their mid-thirties by the way he told them about her credentials. Of course, it had to be karma, chance, or some deity up above that kicked Elsa in the ass for some profound, unfathomable reason.

The girl was young, early twenties, maybe her age, perhaps a few years younger than the blonde herself. And pretty. Very pretty. _Too_ _pretty_ for Elsa.

A sharp intake of air, and she closed her eyes for a moment, the starts of another headache gently pounding at her temples.

Didn't her father say that she already graduated?

. . . great, and she was intelligent also. Just Elsa's type—

_No. She's not my type. And she never will be. She's an employee. Not to mention, probably not even, residually gay. _

With that sentiment and Gerda's vicious look burning in the back of her mind (with the prospect of not eating her beloved meal too), the woman concealed in the corridor finally emerged.

And nearly frightened the poor girl to death. And subsequently startling Elsa as she bounced back, alarmed.

"Yah!"

"Gah!"

The ginger flew back, eyes crunched shut, banishing her phone as a potential weapon against the gothic woman, who also jumped up and dashed away from the device. A moment passed as both women's hearts gradually went back to their usual pace and as both dared to glance at one another.

Anna, uncoiling herself from her little defense stance, blinked as she stared at Elsa while she straightened herself up from ever-present flailing arms.

"Um . . ." the redhead began, unsure how to proceed. Instead, she lowered her armed and _so_ _very_ fatal cell phone.

The blonde looked to the floor, head down and hands fiddling with its twin. She, in Anna's eyes, appeared like a lost, insanely gorgeous child.

A beat. A very awkward moment.

". . . Sorry, for frightening you . . ." The gothic woman's voice was so shallow and low, Anna almost didn't hear it. She tried not to also dwell on the fact that Elsa's voice sounded so sexy. But, her libido decided to plant that in her mind, much to Anna's annoyance.

"I-It's okay," she said, pushing the end-call button on her phone, terminating Kristoff's raging murmuring on the other end. He would have to wait because, well, there was a goddess in her wake.

A blush colored Elsa cheeks as she continued to avoid eye contact. Anna blushed at the sudden thought of how adorable it was.

Another silence followed. Elsa dallied with her pale hands, chipping away at the black nail polish, while Anna scanned the room for something to deflect herself with. Basically, she needed a distraction _from_ the distraction.

Steeling her resolve, the blonde gulped, still not looking up, ". . . um, hi."

Not dwelling on the diffidence in the other's voice, Anna responded, equally skittish, "Hello . . ."

Elsa sunk her incisors into her bottom lip while avoiding any and all eye contact. Like the gaseous ball of life and light called our sun, she was certain the painting restorer also had potential fulgent qualities if leered at for an extended period of time. Withal, despite the jeopardy of losing her precious sight, Elsa couldn't necessarily say that the experience wouldn't be _un_pleasant, since it entitles having the Spring Goddess as the last thing she will ever witness again. It seemed like a worthy sacrifice._ If only she could look at her_.

Tired of the lack of bumptiousness usually accompanying the ginger, Anna straightened and said, "I'm Anna Solsten, the new restorer."

_Ah-_na_._

A simple name, sounding _so_ exotic and unheard of, Elsa nearly blanched as her mind wandered.

Before she can register what she was doing, Elsa's mouth moved, testing, and voiced, "Anna . . ."

She liked the way it rolled off her tongue. Like silk, it flowed so seamlessly.

It took her a moment to acknowledge that the object of the blonde's stupefaction was awaiting some form of reception, and hopefully, unlike the last 'acknowledgment' that transpired between them. Mortified, Elsa paled and tucked her chin further into her chest and muttered, "T-that's a n-nice name." She paused and took a deep, reassuring breath, "Mine's Elsa."

The Spring Go—Anna, giggled. _Giggled_. Maybe it was out of pity, but it made Elsa giddy internally, stomach fluttering with newly born butterflies fleeting about, and virtually glow externally, her pale skin illuminating like the moon on a clear night. A shy smile curled at her lips.

"Yeah, I know, Agdar helped introduce you earlier."

Elsa wanted to groan, the sheeny moon now enshrouded by wispy, ominous clouds, plunging earth into inky darkness. Of course she wouldn't forget about their previous introduction and if what Anna stated is true, then her father in all likeliness said some incriminatingly embarrassing things.

Sucking in a breath, she sighed, "I-I want to . . . _apologize_ for our earlier encounter. I s-should've handled it b-better."

_Damn it, stop stuttering! _

Withal, Anna furrowed her brows, adorkably confused, "What do you mean?"

She gulped, "I s-should've said hello, instead of scurrying off like I-I did."

In all honesty, Elsa was suspecting the other to laugh and agree with her; maybe make jabs and jokes about her cowardice, even still, she wasn't suspecting the gentle glimmer in teal orbs with a tiny chuckle. She almost started when Anna said, "Apology accepted. Though, I do think running into a stranger face-to-face is enough to make anyone flighty, especially one with a face like mine."

It was the blonde's turn to be baffled. "What do you mean?"

"Well," began Anna, tucking a stray hair behind her ear, and looked down to the floor, a blush igniting along her cheeks. "With my abundance of freckles, some people may think I'm a leopard or something."

"I'm not following."

Cyan eyes sprang up, quickly, and locked onto confused icy ones, which nervously flinted back down to combat boots. A mischievous smirk played along her bow-shaped lips. "You know," Anna's voiced lowered into a menacing purr, and it sent a bristle through the Goth. It was astoundingly sexy, oh so very sexy, as it dropped an octave and graveled out in rough riffs, something Elsa didn't know Anna was capable of. "A leopard. A large cat with dangerous features, prowling about on the African plains. Anyone would be scared if they come within in touching distance of the beast."

She sauntered over to the blonde, who stood shell-shocked as her eyes bulged from their sockets, tracing the redhead's legs for she couldn't bring herself to look up at the undeniably coquettish behavior. Once in arm's distance, Anna raised her palm up and curled her fingers in slightly, mimicking claws. Elsa knees nearly gave as she heard a raspy, "Rawr."

Or, at least that's what she thought she heard. She was too business trying not blatantly glower at the ginger's swaying her enticing hips as she neared, they were like a modern-day hypnotic spiral, only much more seemly and glorious to look at. They put James Braid to shame.

Anna's lilting voice shatter her hypnosis, however. "I can see why a little gazelle like you would dash away."

After hearing that, Elsa snapped her eyes up to meet hers, and it was then that Anna's mission was successful. Mouth agape, the blonde stared at her with a mutant of flabbergast and temperament. Anna didn't know which one was more prominent, either way both were just as cute.

Then, something snapped the Gothic Goddess out of her stupor, and like that, once Anna was chipping away at the wary, dark exterior, she recoiled. Something akin to panic flashed across her face so fast, the ginger almost had an incident of whiplash.

"Uh um yeah okay I um have to go." The words came out in such a rush that the other had to decipher it for moment before she realized that the blonde was scurrying away toward the hall.

A sense of dread filled her. "Did I say something wrong—"

"No, No!" Elsa shouted from across the room, one foot exiting the portrait chamber. How'd she got there so rapidly was lost on Anna. "I, um, have to work to do see you tomorrow!"

Yet, before she vanished into the shadowed corridor, on the brink of disappearing into the abyss called the mansion, she stopped and glanced over her shoulder at the wide-eyed and _very_ bewildered Anna. The latter witnessed her stiffen and take an elongated intake of breath, and once she exhaled, turned, and gave her a tentative wave. Her fingers flexed slightly, timid and shifty. It was endearingly unsure in all of the best of ways. Anna resisted the urge to giggle, instead, she returned the gesture, less shy, more certain, making it accompany a goofy grin.

A flash of white entered Anna's vision, before the blonde morphed with the darkness (further cementing the assumption that she is, in fact, a Gothic Goddess to the restorer), leaving only a virtually floating, dazed ginger and the imprint of her brilliant smile in the younger girl's memory.

_Goodbye, my little gazelle. _

**((((0))))**

**. . . And there's another nickname. Honestly I have no idea where the leopard!Anna and gazelle!Elsa came from, but I digress (though I'm sure it'll be on Tumblr soon hahaha). The list of nicknames so far: Gothic Goddess, Spring Goddess, Redheaded Goddess, Personification of Spring, and now, my little gazelle. Hopefully there will be more, so you never know if this list will grow.**

**Anyways, on a more serious note, yes Elsa has anxiety in this story, though it may not be a major plot part in this story, it will be rearing its head once in a while. The reason for this is because most fics over look this aspect of her, and only depict her shy, timid side. I wanted to introduce it because canonly she does suffer from it (she also suffers from depression too, just fyi, but, however, not in this specific story). **

**And I say 'suffers' because many people do have this problem and it can be a detriment to your health. I, too, have suffered from this condition on multiple occasions, yet only sparsely (I mainly have attack when in school, which is coming up for so many people including myself, so this is important to you also if pressures get to you). Although I don't constantly have attacks, I know that many people have them REGULARLY and it's a challenge just to go out the house sometimes.**

**The scene in this chapter deviling in that aspect of Elsa's life, is actually depicting my own personal experience. It's different for everyone, but most have shortness of breath, light-headedness, giddiness and sweats. If you do periodically have attacks or have friends who have attacks please read the following tips:**

**(1) Breath. Take deep breaths. Inhale for around five to seven seconds and exhale from six to eight seconds. Repeat three to five times until your breathing gets back to normal and the attack subsides. **

**(2) Don't coddle. If you have a friend or family member, DON'T try to restrain or go near them. I can't stress this enough. THEY ARE PANICKING. That means rationale is out the widow and they will try to get away and/or fight back. If possible try to get them to do the breathing tactics above and talk TO them, not AT them.**

**(3) Don't shame. If friend/family member is uncomfortable and they want to get away, then let them, but don't give them the guilt trip. This will not help them. They are dealing with a major condition that plagues them, it is not of their control. Be supportive instead.**

**(4) Count to 30. Like the breathing exercises, this helps the brain deal solely on one thing and it focuses on something simple. Preferably, say a word in between counting (i.e. "1, Mississippi, 2, Mississippi . . .) **

**(5) Talk to someone. I cannot stress this enough. Talk about what is making you anxious (usually before an actual attack, but not all of us are this lucky). Reach out for help in a reliable friend or family member. If you are on the flip side, listen to what they have to say.**

**Those are some simple things that can go a long way if you or a person you know has anxiety. If you have any other tips to add along to this list please tell me, I can add them on.**

**Remember, anxiety is something you can't control, because something in your life is out of control. It is a serious condition. Don't make fun of, shame, or get angry with a person who has this condition. It's not something to joke about. And it is REAL, not something people make up (this also goes for depression, most people don't understand that it is a physical condition as well as mental).**

**Also, if you do have anxiety and have no one to go to my PM box is ALWAYS OPEN. This also goes for any other conditions whether it be depression, OCD, or just everyday stress/problems such as family troubles or bullying.**

**Besides the serious matter, I hope you liked this chapter. It was fun to write despite the late update. Looking forward to starting on the next, since it will introduce Elsa's mother. Oh, the joy.**

**Until then, keep READING, keep REVIEWING. **


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